


in this universe

by dottori



Series: let me love you [2]
Category: WTFock | Skam (Belgium)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Developing Relationship, First Dates, First Time, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Pillow Talk, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, and romance romance romance, robbe ijzermans and sander driesen practice this thing called communication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:57:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22036417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dottori/pseuds/dottori
Summary: and today, sander’s plans are crystal clear. they feel like an open book, perhaps only for robbe to ever read.robbe knows and, in this universe at least, he gladly decides to let it happen.(alternatively:vrijdag 22:53 in a different universe, where things ended how they always should have.)
Relationships: Sander Driesen/Robbe IJzermans
Series: let me love you [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1548625
Comments: 18
Kudos: 311





	in this universe

**Author's Note:**

> me writing shameless and sickly sweet romance about my tiny son robbe and his blondie boyfriend sander? more likely than you think. they invented romance anyways. i'm just borrowing their brand for over 10k words and very self-indulgent purposes.
> 
> this was meant to be a 2k cute little thing--that didn't happen, as you guys can tell. and i suck at proof-reading, so. keep that in mind.
> 
> sander was a man on a mission that night: he so wanted it, and robbe wanted it too, so i made it happen for them.
> 
> enjoy!

Robbe knows.

He knew from the moment they started texting this morning. Sander is always flirty and coy and overly romantic in that borderline sappy way of his, and Robbe is embarrassingly affected and weak to it, but today—today it’s _different_.

The goal seems unalike everything else. Robbe can oh, so visibly tell. And maybe those are Sander’s intentions, too. For there not to be any misunderstandings tainting their actions; for them to want the same thing, at the same time.

**Sander**

09:55

I miss you 😢

I’ve been thinking about you all day

You saw me last night

I know

But I’ll never have enough of you

You are so fucking cheesy

You love it IJzermans

Sure I do

I miss your mouth

Your hands

Your tongue

Touching your hair

And you sitting on me like the other day

Sander

I just miss you so fucking much

I want to touch you so bad

In all of the universes

Fuck

Sander

Fuck

You can’t say that

Aren’t you in class?

So?

I can’t miss my boyfriend in class?

I miss you all the time

Everywhere and anywhere

I miss you too Sander

I also think about you all the damn time

It’s not about that

I can call you

If sexting isn’t really your thing

I miss your voice too

You’re impossible

I’m in class right now

Fuck

I’ll call you in five

Can’t wait 😘

❤️

There is just something there: in the words Sander chooses, in that unmistakable hint of breathlessness and heaviness on Sander’s voice as they talk over the phone. It’s a type of longing Robbe has never felt or been the subject of before. A hue of passion and desperation and love that makes Robbe stir dizzy and overwhelmed with want, want, want.

Robbe wants it so bad, it hurts. Like he’s never wanted anything before, like he believes he will never want anything else.

Robbe has been attracted to boys before—he knows how a crush feels like, how different it is from staring at pretty girls and kissing them by pressure—but what Sander makes him feel is a whole new experience.

It’s stronger and all-consuming and almost indispensable and inexplicable. It’s all the good kinds of too much, the perfect amount of feeling too much, and something Robbe is quickly getting addicted to. It’s a warm thrill he wishes it would never stop.

Since Tuesday, they have spent as much time as possible together. Getting to know each other better, as good as two human beings could get to connect, growing used to and hooked to each other’s presence, and it’s been… perfect.

Sander is perfect, in between of all of his imperfections, and Robbe is stupid for him; completely and utterly gone for those cute green eyes, cute pouty cherry lips, cute soft blonde hair, cute milky-gold skin, cute voice and cute laugh.

Sander’s cute, gorgeous self. Robbe likes it all. Or Sander’s silly self. Or Sander’s more dark, somber moments, like on Wednesday, where he reminded Robbe so much of his mother with those ugly thoughts and fidgety eyes, and he will ask him about it soon.

Robbe knows what Sander wants out of today. He knows.

Sander is a mystery, often vague and confusing, but he has slowly started to open his heart, letting him see inside his stormy head—Robbe would never push, and Sander doesn’t push either, they never demand or expect anything the other isn’t ready to spare. They are learning to trust each other, step by step, how to tell and share the good, bad and the ugly.

And today, Sander’s plans are crystal clear. They feel like an open book, perhaps one made only for Robbe to ever read.

“_Let’s go on a date tonight. You and I._” He whispers over the phone, and Robbe trembles at the sound of his voice; deep with want and a tint of desperation that courses down his spine like electricity and Robbe is tipsy with it. “_I want us to have a good time. Please.”_

“Okay, Sander, okay.” Robbe whispers back, grabbing onto his phone like a lifeline, because his legs are feeling pliant under his weight and he probably won’t be able to think about anything else all day long. “Let’s go out.”

Robbe has never felt anything like this before. It’s almost overwhelming. It isn’t love, not yet, maybe soon it could be. Sander probably doesn’t even know the way he affects him, all the power he has over Robbe.

He would’ve never, _never_ agreed to go out with a boy three weeks ago—letting people see, people know about this, about who he really is; Robbe has been terrified of that for so long, the mere idea still makes him wary and edgy, but he pushes the loud thoughts away.

Instead, Robbe smiles stupidly despite himself, leaning his head against his locker in hopes of calming his thrashing heart and burning cheeks before getting back to class, because he would do anything to make Sander happy, to replace the bitter memories he is guilty of, to see him smile bright and free and all pretty and not worry about anything else but the _now _Robbe wants to share with him.

Robbe is kind of in love with Sander Driesen. And he could get used to feeling like this.

* * *

**Sander**

17:36

I’ll pick you up at seven

That alright?

Yeah

That’s chill

Where are we going?

Surprise 😉

Don’t 😉 me

Tell me!

Please?

Don’t be impatient baby

Don’t call me baby

Sure baby

Why are you like this?

Because you love me

And you’ll love it

I promise ❤️

Then don’t make me impatient

Baby

Fuck

You should call me baby forever

In every universe

You’re so easy

Baby ❤️

I’ll show you easy tonight

Cute tease

You love it Driesen

I do

I really really do

And hours later, here they are: sitting inside a crowded bar, sharing cold beers and cheap snacks, on what Sander very proudly announces to be their first date as officially _boyfriends_, and Robbe feels like he is floating, almost bursting out of his skin.

They have been here before. Robbe doesn’t like thinking about that double date but, Sander mentions how gorgeous Robbe looked under the bar lights last week, so he just _had_ to bring him here again, with his analog camera and all the time in world to marvel at him, just the two of them, as it always should’ve been.

“I need pictures of you looking like this, so fucking _pretty_,” he says because he is cheesy and ridiculous like that, but Robbe blushes anyways, because he’s weak like that, too.

“Shut up.”

“Aw, baby, are you _blushing_?” Sander coos, getting closer and closer, staring at his lips and touching Robbe’s cheeks, over the red hue and freckles.

“Fuck off!” Robbe says, jokingly pushing Sander away from him, but he’s laughing, and Sander is too; his eyes get greener like this, adorably smaller and he looks so young and tender and pretty. Robbe likes how being happy makes Sander look, he likes it a lot.

So, Robbe tries to make him laugh again by doing a silly magic trick, one that Jens taught him back during their scout days and for which not even an idiot would fall, but Sander _laughs_, letting Robbe feed him the piece of chocolate he pretended to pull from his ear with a wide grin on his face, as he lightly pushes Robbe’s away.

The world around them becomes blurry and distant, a background noise. Robbe doesn’t care that people can see, that anyone he knows could recognize him through the window laughing as he inclines inwards Sander’s face, fishing for a kiss on the cheek—he can’t care less. Enveloped in their own little bubble, nothing else matters.

Robbe runs a finger alongside Sander’s jaw, caresses the soft skin of his neck, touches his Adam’s apple as it bobs up and down, and lets his cold fingers drag lower, following the path of his vocal chords and sternum, and then up again, tracing the skin under Sander’s bottom lip as it quivers a bit.

He smiles wider, running a hand up from Sander’s knee to high up his thigh, squeezing just so, teasing without noticing, chasing the path of warm skin he craves so much to touch, and something _shifts_ between them.

Sander is staring. Robbe feels his eyes running over his face, soaking at the image of him under this rich lighting that he likes so much, seemingly unable to fixate all of his attention onto one of Robbe’s features, and he can’t help but stare back into his twinkling, bright, doe-like green eyes, resting their foreheads together, gravitating around each other’s orbits.

Sander grabs onto his lingering hand, getting it even closer to his mouth, and blows some hot air, heating him up. “You’re so cold,” he says, still looking at him directly, his eyes shining under the bar’s lights, and Robbe feels glowing and fuzzy under the attention.

Robbe revels in it. He senses a chocolate-warm light bursting out of him as Sander gets closer, so sweet; a kaleidoscope of all of the pretty colors and loving feelings one can have for someone else, and Robbe feels drunk in the best way imaginable.

Sander reaches out, touching his nape. He plays with the ends of his brown locks, the clip of his chain, touches along his spine and all around his neck. Robbe notices when Sander’s attention shifts slowly downwards, off his eyes, lingering on his lips for a second too long before falling onto his throat.

And Robbe gets flustered when Sander pushes the collar of his jumper down a bit, softly touching alongside his collarbone and the center of his exposed chest, the veins on his neck, and then back to his hair, over and over; a ghostly, lingering touch, almost feathery, that gives him goosebumps.

“You are fucking perfect, you know?” Sander whispers so quietly, as if speaking any louder would destroy the magic of the moment and make it all disappear, and maybe it will—running his hand mindlessly in between the strands of hair low on Robbe’s nape. “You are all I can draw lately, all I see.”

“I’m definitely not perfect,” Robbe can’t cower away from his piercing gaze, but he can shake his head no and sigh a bit, deflating as unwelcomed memories come back. Robbe is not perfect, he’s fucked up and hurt Sander and will never apologize enough and—“I’m not that special.”

“But you’re to me, Robbe. You _are_.” Sander repeats, certain, and Robbe _wants_ to believe him. So, he smiles again, letting his head tilt to one side as he looks at the other boy.

He looks absolutely breathtaking too under this lighting. His eyes shine brighter, his blonde hair looks fluffier, his lips get redder, his skin glows warmer.

Robbe doesn’t know much about visual arts, but he listens carefully when Sander talks about it. Music, photography, drawing—Sander lives by art, and Robbe likes to indulge him. He lets Sander draw him and take pictures and they listen to David Bowie together for hours, for as long as Sander wants, kissing and cuddling and talking and just being _them_.

Robbe and Sander. Sander and Robbe. In this and every other universe.

“You’re so, so special, too.” He says and means it, chocked-up a bit by everything, letting Sander drag him closer by the neck until they can stare at each other’s lips even more shamelessly.

They have been playing this game for a while: looking but not touching, teasing but not giving, yearning but not getting. Just riling each other up with lingering stares and pouty lips and cheeky bites. Robbe thinks he might pass out if he doesn’t get to kiss Sander any time soon.

Sander says something Robbe can’t quite catch, and he brings their cheeks together, his mouth wet and hot against his ear, and the gust of warm air Sander breathes out makes Robbe shiver all over.

“You’re so gorgeous, _so_ _hot_—you probably don’t even know what you do to me.” Sander drags, he sounds a bit drunk, a bit rough, a bit overwhelmed perhaps.

Robbe lets out a shaky sigh, and his hands are shy and trembly when he caresses Sander’s blonde locks between his fingers, the heaps of want that have collected at the pit of his stomach since this morning burst out and make Robbe feel lightheaded, speechless. “Sander, I—”

“I wanna make you feel so good tonight.” He whispers again, rubbing their cheeks together and leaving a wet, messy kiss at his ear before moving back, giggling a bit when Robbe curses under his breath.

Robbe follows him, chases for his mouth, and gives him a kiss at the corner of his smirk, nuzzling a bit. Sander touches his face, his neck, his hair, so tenderly, so carefully, as if he’s something precious, and he gets them even closer together. Knees bumping beneath the table, hands grabbing onto each other, breathing the same air, and Robbe rests his head against Sander’s jaw.

“Please, Robbe, let me make you feel good, _please_.”

“Okay, yeah. _Sander_, I—okay.” Robbe nods against Sander’s cheek, breathing him in, the sound of his deep voice so desperate, so near his ears, saying such things, is making him leak with want, want, want—

Sander leans away just enough to brush their foreheads together and bask at the closeness for a minute, eyes shut and smiling, and then blinks and points towards outside with his head in that way of his, urging him on. “You ready to go?”

Robbe nods, smiling, still clinging onto Sander’s soft sweatshirt. “_Come_, then.”

Once outside, Robbe finally succumbs and forgets all about their teasing game at the bar. He grabs both of Sander’s cheeks and drags their mouths softly together, an innocent kiss as they skip towards their bikes. Sander dives in again, with purpose now that they’re alone, but Robbe is smiling too hard for them to kiss properly.

“C’mon, baby, let’s get you somewhere else.” Sander says over his lips, smiling wide and bright, trying to catch Robbe by the waist, but he’s faster, moving away and around Sander to jump onto his back with ease, hugging him tight by the shoulders and giggling as Sander stumbles a bit on his feet.

Sander laughs at loud, sounding as excited and bubbly and euphoric and happy and so, so eager as Robbe feels himself, catching his legs and piggybacking him down the street. Robbe laughs, too, hiding his face on Sander’s shoulder and leaving butterfly kisses all over the skin he can reach; his neck, his flushed cheek, under his jaw, his ear just how Sander did earlier.

“Oh, and where are you taking me, _baby_?” He asks teasingly against Sander’s ear, dragging the last word for sweetly long, trying to sound serious, but he breaks into a giggle halfway through after Sander snorts a laugh, too.

Robbe climbs down the blonde boy’s back as soon as they get to their bikes, smiling so much his face has started to hurt. Sander turns around immediately, grinning wide as he leans down, chasing his mouth for a deep kiss, as if he couldn’t go without it any second longer, just like him, and Robbe has never felt this euphoric before, this overwhelmingly happy.

It makes everything all that much sweeter, hotter: Sander’s lips on his, his tongue pushing inside, roaming all over, restless hands grabbing at his waist, clinging onto his jacket. Robbe’s own hands around his neck, their bodies getting impossibly closer, warmer by the second.

“My place or yours?” Sander asks as they break away to breathe, eyes lingering on Robbe’s wet mouth so boldly, licking his lips as if trying to chase the taste left behind, and Robbe can only stare back, flustered and entranced and buzzing as they sway a bit.

And there it is, Robbe thinks; what he’s been craving for all night, what they’ve wanted since this morning. This is _it_. “Please say at yours.” The other boy adds, all pouty and pretty, breathing over his mouth.

“_At yours_.” Robbe teases, poking fun of Sander’s little whiny voice, and Sander snorts in that cute way of his, leaning in again.

Sander’s mouth is so hot on his, all warm and wet and messy and perfect. Robbe circles both arms around his neck, letting Sander support him as he grabs tightly onto his waist, hugging close and rapidly getting lost into their kiss again.

Their hands start to wander soon enough; Sander’s get under his shirt, alongside his belt, and lower and lower down the small of his back and the back of his thighs. Robbe hisses a bit, pulling at the soft blonde streaks of hair harder than he planned to, and now it’s the blonde boy’s turn to moan into their attached mouths.

They pull apart abruptly at the sound, looking around if someone was near enough to hear, and they laugh breathlessly.

“I—let’s go. Fuck, let’s go home. I, we need to, I—”

“Okay. Okay, let’s go.” Sander gasps heavy but makes no attempt to move. Instead, he dives in again for his mouth, coaxing his lips wide open and lifting Robbe up, erasing their height difference to kiss properly.

Robbe lets him, sucking at his tongue in that way Sander seems to like, pulling at his hair in hopes of getting another one of those sounds, kissing him deep and wet and slow. Robbe fights the urge of getting his legs around Sander’s waist, and groans when the other boy runs his hands lower on his sides and settles on his thighs, pushing their hips flush together, belts knocking, and they really need to get home.

“Sander, we need to go. We can’t, not here.” Robbe tries again when they split apart for a second, nipping at Sander’s lips once, and then twice more, because his mouth is so close, and it tastes so good and because he _can _and _wants _to_._

“Yeah. I—yeah,” The blonde seems a bit out of it; his cheeks are burning pink, mouth wetter and redder than Robbe has ever seen it, and the green of his eyes is wild, circling his blown-out pupils. Perhaps Robbe looks just as ruined as him.

Sander laughs, mumbling a _sorry_ as he hides his flushed face on Robbe’s neck. He brushes his lips softly against the skin, not quite a kiss, gracing his teeth over where it meets his shoulder, and while hugging this close Robbe can feel how fast his heart is beating, too.

They breathe together for a minute, calming down, and then Sander finally steps away, letting Robbe fall onto the ground again and kissing him one last time, making it fast and teasing with that smirk of his. Sander turns his face away as Robbe leans in, just when their lips were a gust apart from touching again. “Let’s go, _baby_.”

Robbe just shakes his head, smiling, too jolly to be annoyed by Sander’s teasing. He tries regaining control of his wobbly legs and fuzzy mind that’s chanting over and over _go, go, go, _because Robbe _wants, wants, wants; _he feels like he’s been pining for this his whole life and the need is flooding out of his skin and waiting is physically painful at this point.

They unlock their bikes in a rush, and ride down the street and towards the flat-share as fast as possible without falling, laughing and holding hands.

* * *

Robbe knows.

He knew they were bound to end the night like this: making out on his bed behind closed doors, fast and rough and messy and wet and so, so desperate and eager, so good. Laying impossibly closer and closer, shirts long forgotten and chest to chest, hips to hips; the wave of sensations feels intoxicating.

The desire is so apparent, as distinct as anything can be. It fast replaces every other thought, so clear that their mouths taste just like _want _in such a perfect way, it makes Robbe shudder. It’s so unbelievably good. Nothing has ever felt this warm and hot and sweet, too much all at once.

He pulls at Sander’s blonde hair roughly, feeling bold, detaching their lips to catch a breath and calm his hammering heart a bit, and Sander moans so loud, so gone, that gets Robbe to laugh, mesmerized.

“Shh,” he giggles, kissing him silent. “Roommates,” Robbe reminds, and Sander grins a little bashful at that, cheeks flushing a little pinker; green eyes shining a little brighter, and he looks breathtaking like this.

They stare for a second, panting heavy against each other’s mouths, lips so close but not enough to brush properly as they nuzzle their foreheads together. “So fucking beautiful, so pretty. Wanna draw you just like this…” Sander mirrors his thoughts in a dreamy sigh, rambling, and soon they are kissing again.

Robbe lavishes at his neck in a way that has Sander moaning against his ear, soft and hot and heavy. In return, Sander holds tightly at his hair, and drags his palms wide and greedy down his back, bated while he squeezes at the skin, working in a rush to get Robbe’s and his own belt off.

His breath gets caught up at his throat as he watches every inch of Sander’s warm tan skin, reaching out to touch the moles mottled all over his chest, like stardust. Robbe drags his trembling mouth across Sander’s chest and ribs, and finally down until he meets the beginning of his skinny jeans. Sander nods enthusiastically when Robbe starts undoing his zipper, whispering a string of _yesses_ and _comes_.

Robbe’s heart is beating so fast, so loud inside his chest, he’s sure Sander can hear it, perhaps even feel it while being this close. It’s silly, really. It’s not like he hasn’t seen a dick before, or _Sander’s _dick for that matter—he_ has_, at that pool last Wednesday. But it’s not the same.

From now on, it’s just the two of them. Now, they’re laying on his bed after a nice and perfect night out, their first date. Now, they are _boyfriends_, and that makes a world of a difference.

Now, there is nothing stopping Robbe from reaching down, touching the hot and slick skin of his crotch, getting Sander to mumble a curse, pulling at his hair as he twitches.

Robbe breathes out, trying to get a grip, closing his eyes as he willfully decides to not overthink this and just feel, live in the moment. With newfound confidence, Robbe licks his hand, trying to get it wet before he curls it tight around Sander’s dick. But it’s not enough, not as good as it can be, but he can’t bother to reach for his lube right now. Instead, he chooses to dip his head down and spit on the tip, ghostly leaving a kiss as he spreads it down all the length, and that’s as brave as he’ll get today.

While Robbe deems it as the bare minimum, it seems to be well more than enough for Sander. “_Holy fuck_.”

He gets louder as Robbe finds the steady rhythm he seems to enjoy the most, biting at his neck and mouthing against his ear silly, mindless encouragements: _c’mon, just like that baby, so good, _that have them laughing in between the euphoria of being here, doing this, saying such sappy things, so turned on and horny and needy and desperate it becomes hilarious somehow.

Robbe means to make it good and last, but it turns out difficult when Sander is looking so gorgeous below him. Touching Sander like this is a luxury, and Robbe wants to hear, wants to see how much prettier he’d look then. He _wants_, so he tugs faster and tighter, getting him closer to the brim.

Robbe always knew they’d end up like this. “Fuck, shit, baby. Robbe, wait—” Sander pushes their mouths together, kissing him hard and rough. Then, suddenly, he’s a goner.

Sander trembles on their embrace as he comes down the high with a breathless laugh, and Robbe jerks him through it softly, smiling as they rub their foreheads together, basking in Sander’s afterglow with giddy smiles and helpless giggles.

“You are mind-blowing, Robbe,” Sander pants, sounding lust rough and drunk, a little out of it still, rolling them over again to be on top, not wasting a beat in catching his lips in an open-mouthed kiss. “So fucking good, so perfect.”

Sander drags his tongue flat all over his neck, sucking at the pulsating veins sweetly and lightly at first, and then hard and relentless, gracing his teeth over them teasingly. Robbe can feel Sander smirk against his flourishing red skin when he bites down a moan, covering his mouth as Sander makes a hickey over the sensitive nerves under his jaw.

He traces every muscle of Sander’s back he can reach, caresses his neck and pulls at his fluffy hair, chasing for that perfectly sweet itch of breath and whine Sander made earlier. Their kisses grow languid, slow but deep, and they reach a halt when Sander snakes a hand between their bodies, all the way down, fumbling inside his pants to touch him and prompting Robbe to hiss and pull away, looking down.

“Fuck, Sander,” Robbe moans, barely above a whisper. Sander grins wider, moving his hand up and down so, so slow, just to rile him up and get a reaction. “_Fucking tease_…”

"What's wrong?" He rolls, his voice rich with teasing as he lowers to kiss the moan off his mouth, pumping his hand slower and lazier, until he stops; palm grazing at the base, the tip of his fingers ghostly brushing at the tip. “You want something, baby?”

This is Sander’s favorite game—getting Robbe to say it, want it, inveigle it out of him, pushing Robbe to the edge until shame becomes a concept that’s easily replaceable with want and need—he is well aware of this. However, Robbe just happens to be very, very bad at it, and he soon grows impatient. “C’mon, Sander, _c’mon_—”

“Relax, baby” Sander whispers in mirth, nipping at his cheekbones, his jaw, in between his collarbones and lower, lower, lower, with a clear purpose in mind that has Robbe shivering all over.

“I said let me make you feel so good, so let me, Robbe. Please, _let me_.” Sander begs oh, so sweetly against the shell of his ear, purring against his temple, whispering _let me_ and _please_ again and again as he traces a sloppy path of kisses down his chest.

Finally—_finally_—Sander is breathing over his crotch with a cheeky smile, looking up at him just so, in a way that has Robbe cursing in a shaky breath, pliant under Sander’s hands. “Yes, okay. Just—_fuck_.” The idea dwindles off his mouth in a soundless moan, and all he can think about is the fervent wetness of Sander’s lips around him.

Robbe forces himself to not stare down, and focuses on his labored breathing instead, on keeping his voice down, on making it last. He looks up at the ceiling as his lips fall open, playing with Sander’s soft hair as a distraction, but it backfires when Sander hums, purrs a little as he leans into the touch, and the vibrations send a jolt up his spine.

He pulls Sander off softly by the hair when it starts being too much, when the heat pools at its lowest and his skin glows the warmest. Sander whines, mouthing lightly at the base, refusing to let go, and Robbe paws at his nape, silently begging him to stop, because Robbe needs Sander off before it’s too late. “_Sander, _stop. Please, I’m gonna—”

“Okay, baby, okay…” Sander gets up with a last mushy kiss at the tip, eagerly thrusting his tongue inside Robbe’s willing mouth, forcing him to taste himself. Robbe whines into it; at the taste, at Sander being everywhere all too suddenly, at the impendent rush of his release crashing fast and unexpectable in waves, at how Sander milks it out of him in lithe tugs.

Sander breaks the kiss first, breathing fast and humid over his face, eyes all blown-out as he stares down at Robbe’s mouth. Still blazing with want and lust, Sander traces Robbe’s lips with his fingers, pushing them inside teasingly, and moans brokenly when Robbe licks at them a little, shyly, testing to see Sander’s reaction, if he’d like that—and he really, _really_ does.

The other boy laughs despite himself, and then Robbe feels the rush of bliss, too. They nuzzle their noses together, his eyes shining with adoration, and Robbe’s heart grows larger as he looks back just as lovingly, tender and caring.

Robbe sighs when he feels Sander’s hands wander downwards again, but now Sander touches with a different goal in mind. It’s apparent on his shaky pants, hands roaming all over, searching gaze that shifts between his lips and eyes, and Robbe is proven right when his fingers just brush teasingly along his now brittle and spit-damp dick, and inch _lower_ instead.

Sander stills over him, but he lets his fingers linger, suddenly nervous and insecure as they rest their flush warm cheeks together. Robbe smiles a little, endeared by Sander caring so much, and he turns his head to kiss his temple before saying: “_Yes._”

The blonde groans, dragging their mouths together hotly, now touching with purpose, circling the skin in a way that has Robbe moaning, leaning curiously into the explosion—the Chernobyl of new sensations unconsciously.

“I—Fuck, wait, do you have—?” Sander mumbles into their kisses, so lost into it the question remains unfinished as he sucks at his tongue, touching between his legs, exploring more freely when Robbe lets them fall open slightly wider.

_Lube, right_. Robbe nods, twisting under Sander to reach over his nightstand, getting the bottle out and giving it to the boy, who looks at it while chewing at his bottom lip. Robbe reaches out to stroke the tension off of Sander’s neck, up and down his arms, trying to reassure him.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Sander admits eventually, and his now slick-wet fingers are trembling as he reaches down again, touching the rim just lightly, barely pushing the tip of his index finger in, but the pressure is enough to have Robbe hissing breathlessly, shivering at the coldness.

“You won’t,” Robbe says, forcing his voice to sound steady and clear, because there must be no misunderstanding between them: he’s on board with this, all the way, if the blonde also wants it. “It feels good, Sander, it’s good,” Robbe pushes downwards, letting the finger fit until the first knuckle in one jerky motion, and both of them moan simultaneously at the sensation.

“But I will_. _I _know _I will_,_” Sander hisses. Robbe notices him getting fidgety, just like on Wednesday as he stares down at where they are connected. His voice gets rough, distant as he adds: “I, you don’t even know. Listen, Robbe, I… I’m—”

“Sander, please, look at me,” Robbe pleads, softly caressing both of Sander’s cheeks as he brings their foreheads to lay against each other, running his thumb along the smooth skin of his cheekbones and behind his ears. “You won’t hurt me. I want this, okay?”

Robbe bites at his lower lip, catching Sander’s eyes on his, and for a moment a wave of doubt springs deep on his chest. “Sander, do _you_ want it, too? Because we can stop, if you don’t—”

The boy shakes his head, sighing relieved. “Of course, I want to. I want it so fucking bad,” Sander smiles, letting his head fall onto Robbe’s shoulder, nuzzling into it as he starts moving his finger out slightly, confidently enough to make them gasp again.

“I’m holding you,” Sander gets off his neck with a full gleamy smirk now, resting his lips over Robbe’s teasingly. “And I’m never letting you go,” He adds, getting sappy and overly romantic in that very Sander-like way, and Robbe can’t help but roll his eyes and kiss that grin off his face.

“Don’t let go of me, Robbe. Please.” Sander’s voice hears so small, muffled against his neck, perhaps he never expected Robbe to catch it, but while being this close together, the vibrations of his throat are unmistakable and impossible to ignore.

“I won’t,” Robbe whispers against his temple, suddenly choked-up and overwhelmed by everything that they’re feeling, too. He hugs Sander closer, tighter, cradling his nape and petting his hair. “Not in this universe. I’m staying for as long as you want.”

“Forever then,” Sander answers immediately. “You and I, in every universe.”

“_Always_.”

Suddenly, talking becomes a hassle. It’s needy, sloppy kisses with purpose from then on, greedy touches, loud gasps than turn into moans that die into each other’s heated skin, and the slow-burn want that has been consuming at them all day finally takes over everything.

Robbe knows. He knew from the moment they started texting this morning; the lingering stares at the bar, the way they’ve been kissing all night, the sound of wet-slick skin lapping against each other, the sensation of fingers buried deep inside him, the litany of moans that pours out of their lips.

Now, he knows by how Sander excitedly giggles, so, so eager as he climbs down the bed, fishing in between the pile of their scattered clothes for a condom.

He knows, he always did.

And, in this universe at least, Robbe gladly decides to let it happen.

* * *

Predictably, it all becomes too much, way too early. They don’t make it that far. To be fair, Robbe is surprised they were brave, _patient_ enough to withstand and drag the unavoidable up until this point.

For all of his best efforts at holding it in, soaking in the sensations without falling over the edge before the main act even begins, Robbe reaches his peak before he can finish saying _c’mon, I’m ready_, too overwhelmed by Sander’s voice moaning against his ear and his fingers crooking just right.

Robbe laughs too loud he hears a _shh_ coming from Milan’s room, but he can’t care as he trembles, partly embarrassed and satisfied. He shuns away from Sander’s amazed, bright stare, hiding behind his hands as he pants heavy from his mouth, grasping at any air he can grab. “Shit, sorry. I’m so sorry…I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay. It’s fine.” They distract each other from the shivering need still lingering around with tongue-filled kisses and wandering hands. “So pretty, so good,” Sander gasps, trying to get some of his own edge off against his navel, and it’s just making it worse.

“You can still—I mean, if you want.”

“Are you sure? We don’t have—”

“_Yes_.”

“Fuck_, _okay. Let me just… get this on.”

“You mind if I—” And just like that, Sander is gone, too, inside the condom before getting to use it as planned, as soon as Robbe rolls it down the length. And Robbe is hovering so close he can _see_ it all, feel in against his palm, and that’s a lot to sink in and describe. “Sander, holy _fuck_—”

Sander looks down, too, opening his eyes wide and rising his eyebrows as he shrugs humorously, a grin blossoming on his lips as he sighs out loud. “Well then, so much of _that_.”

Now, it’s just a lost cause, laughing against each other’s mouths as they ride the aftershocks together, hugging close and kissing chastely, a little too sensitive for more, not really disappointed—they are more amused by their lack of endurance than anything else. It’s not a big deal, really. “We can always try again, you know?”

“Yeah, you’re right. We have all the time in the world.”

* * *

Robbe can’t tell for how long they have been laying like this; in a mess of boneless limbs, hugging each other impossibly close, warm enough to keep them both from shivering, and burning through all of his stash of weed as they watch the night waste away.

Sander’s blonde hair is tickling softly at his chin as he rests his head over his frenzied heart, dragging his cold fingers all around the freckles on his chest, counting them one by one, and Robbe kisses his forehead as he snuggles closer, letting most of the weed consume itself at the ashtray.

Robbe feels bleary and lightheaded. He would’ve easily believed he’s dreaming right now, but Sander is squishing gently at his sides, delicately over his nipples, and it works as grounding somehow. A reminder that they are here now, that the last hours weren’t delusion taken right out of Robbe’s most yearned wishes.

“How come you’re so tiny?” Sander mutters in a throaty sigh, poking at his abs and ribs as he stares down his chest. “I can almost fit your whole waist in my hands. It’s cute.”

Robbe huffs out a laugh, feeling the vibrations of his own chest against Sander’s like a ghostly caress, and he reaches to grab at the blonde’s biceps and forearms. “And you’re so skinny. Literally noodle arms,” he teases, and Sander lets out an indignant gasp, grinning wide as he leans up to kiss him breathless.

Amidst their mingled legs and arms, and without detaching their mouths, Sander manages to twist his whole body around, giggling as he almost makes both fall off the bed; and reaches for his discarded phone. They rearrange themselves to rest together in one pillow, looking up as Sander extends his arms over their heads, phone in the air while he scrolls down Spotify, gushing excitedly about all the songs he’s been listening to that remind him of Robbe.

They settle for David Bowie, as expected. Robbe still can’t talk Sander into giving some of the music he likes a try: _Still not listening to Stormzy? _He had said yesterday, trying to kiss Sander silly and into agreeing.

It doesn’t work—_Nope, _he’d said back, flustered and blushed pink as he gazed down at his shiny-wet mouth, but even then, still stubborn, shaking his head no and pouting like a little kid. And Robbe truly has been rendered stupid for this guy; finding endearing and cute how much of a tease and annoying Sander is, refusing to kiss him and tickling at his sides until Robbe said David Bowie is better.

Robbe doesn’t mind listening to Bowie, though. He likes how happy it makes Sander, how he glows all pretty and gorgeous while he quotes his lyrics, or hums along the melody; it’s captivating and enthralling—the fact that the blonde boy’s eager to share one of his bigger passions with Robbe feels special, too. Private, like a secret of theirs.

“This playlist, right?” Sander says with gaiety, kissing Robbe’s cheek before nodding upwards. “You aren’t ready for it yet, baby. Your Bowie knowledge is _appalling_.”

“Look at you, saying fancy words. Doesn’t match well with your artsy, spray-painting, bad boy aesthetic.”

Sander looks at him with his green eyes all wide and dramatically offended. Robbe laughs at his silly, pretty face, nuzzling their foreheads and noses together as they hug closer. “It’s not just an _aesthetic_,” Sander declares with a pout. “It’s a way of living, okay?”

“Sure it is,” Robbe snickers, reaching to leave a quick kiss over Sander’s enticing red mouth, leaning away before the other boy gets the chance of deepen it again.

“And what about your _skater boy_ aesthetic?” Sander counters, nodding at his skateboard. Robbe shakes his head, and his smile widens while Sander stares down at it with a grin twitching at the end of his lips. “You’re really good, by the way. I’ve seen you at the skatepark.”

“Really?” Robbe perks up at that, resting up on one elbow to look at Sander properly while he nods his head up and down, blonde hair bouncing against his forehead, looking almost proud of himself—he’s never seen him there, nor has Sander mention it before.

And Sander thinks Robbe is _really good_, at something he’s very passionate about_._

He feels his chest spread warm at that, and he can’t help but inch downwards to kiss Sander wholly, making it slow and deep as he whispers between their lips: “You’re an amazing artist, too. The best,” making Sander beam so bright at him, like a ray of sun in the middle of the night.

Their movements turned sluggish long ago. Now with the warm touch of skin against skin, loving and tender and still a little sensitive, feeling around with no purpose aside from the fast addicting sensation, the desperation and want have finally poured of their systems.

As the kiss turns languid and Sander rolls on top again, Robbe strokes his fingers along Sander’s spine, and buries them deep on his fluffy hair, scratching at his head and petting his scalp, and the older boy mirrors his mindless movements.

Sander leans into the touch immediately, and Robbe smiles at that. “You must be a cat, in another universe out there,” He whispers, messing with the blonde strands now, running his nails behind Sander’s ears. “You’re _purring_.”

“Maybe, _in another universe_,” Sander makes fun of his voice as he repeats, and Robbe hits his chest softly; Sander has grown to like the idea of the parallel universes a lot. “We both are. Living through our seven lives together.”

“Maybe.”

They stare at each other, cheeks nestled against the pillow they are sharing, and the world seems to be moving slower around them. Sander reaches out a hand to brush Robbe’s fringe off his face, resting his hand gently over his ear, fingers tracing at his eyelids and cheekbones, meekly and almost shyly over his lips and the bridge of his nose.

He lets Sander explore, watching his flushed cheeks and green eyes as they rank all over his face. “I really wanna draw you like this. Or take a picture at least; so beautiful.”

Robbe looks at him entertained, turning his head a little to kiss at his palm. With half of his face crushed against the pillow, his voice comes out a bit muffled and funny. “You think I’m cute while fucked-out and sleepy?”

“I always think you’re cute.” Sander winks against the pillow, looking ridiculous as he does so with half of his face mushed and his cheeks puffed out, pouty. And with his blonde hair all mussed like that, Robbe can’t help but reach to poke at the corner of his lips and say: “You look like a hamster.”

He titters as quietly as he can manage, watching as Sander hides his whole face against the pillow to muffle his own laughs. Robbe feels his face grow a little warmer and pinker at the mushy comment regardless of his teasing, because he’s so easily affected and weak to Sander’s silly and overly-romantic self.

They stay in a comfortable silence for a moment, hearing each other breathe softly, eyes-closed and peaceful. Then, a thought pops into his mind, and Robbe needs to get this out there, before he talks himself against it. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.” Sander whispers, reaching to interlock their fingers.

“Why do you like drawing me so much?”

Robbe would never mind that Sander does—his art is beautiful, it’s not about that. He’s just curious; Sander says he’s special and perfect and pretty, and while Robbe wants to believe him, there might be something else there. So, laying this close and intimate after spending their first night together, it seems like the perfect time to ask.

Sander is silent for a moment as the question dances around the air. He lowers his head back into Robbe’s chest, letting his fingers travel from high up his neck, at the sensitive skin under his chin, and low, low down his navel, teasing his way inside his waistband again, just a little, just enough to get Robbe’s full attention. “Hey…”

“Remember the other day,” He starts abruptly, voice quiet and small. “When you told me how music made you forget about everything shitty?”

That was on Tuesday. They were Facetiming late at night, and Robbe blurted it out before he could stop himself. Robbe nods, burying his nose between Sander’s hair, kissing the crown of his head as a nonverbal encouragement for Sander to continue, to let him know he’s paying attention. “Art’s the opposite of that.”

“Really?” Sander hums against his chest, leaving a small kiss there before rolling over to lay on his back instead. “How?”

The blonde makes a wild gesture with his hands, trying to find the right words to say perhaps, and Robbe doesn’t pressure him, he waits until Sander is ready. After a minute, the blonde adds: “It keeps everything I love perfect forever, so I can’t hurt or break them. Kinda like a safe space, you know?”

He doesn’t. Robbe doesn’t know what to say at that either and Sander seems to notice. He’s frowning a little when he turns to look at him, his eyes big and shining with a hint of insecurity now, searching quickly around his face. Robbe’s never seen the blonde like this. “Sorry, you think that’s weird?”

“No, no. That’s… that’s beautiful.” And so, so gloomy. Sander seems to be so scared of hurting or breaking everything—their memories, Robbe earlier in the night, but he doesn’t say that, not now, when Sander is sharing so much. They can talk about it another time.

Instead, Robbe reaches to caress the blonde’s face, smiling a bit when Sander sparkles brightly after his words; he nuzzles into his palm and closes his eyes, looking sleepy and shimmery. In the lingering afterglow, Sander’s cheeks have stayed pink, lips are bitten-red, shiny and full, and his pupils remained blown-out and sated.

Perhaps Robbe looks similarly wrecked—blushing and warm and pretty, and that’s why Sander is looking at him like this, mesmerized and dreamy, like he's all Sander can see, all Sander wants to ever glance at.

He hugs Sander closer to his chest, allowing their slow heartbeats to synchronize as they fall comfortably silent. Seeing Sander so relaxed and limp against him reminds Robbe of how tired he is, how heavy his eyelids feel, how late at night it must be, so he gets cozy on the pillow as the sound of Sander’s controlled breathing and his hands petting his nape lure him to sleep.

* * *

The room’s still pitch black when he starts stirring awake, the melody of David Bowie’s songs softly filling in the silence. Robbe sighs, rubbing his eyes open as he rolls closer to the corner of the bed, carefully inside Sander’s enveloping arms as they tighten around him, and fishes for his phone in the ground. He squints at the bright lights, yawning as he checks the time.

It’s barely half past two in the morning.

“You want me to leave?” Sander asks out of nowhere, voice raspy against his ear as he leans over to rest his chin on Robbe’s shoulder and look at the screen, hugging him flush against his chest, and Robbe startles, jumping slightly.

“Sorry, baby. Didn’t mean to scare you, I was already awake,” Sander laughs airy, petting low on his stomach as Robbe’s heart skips a few beats.

“No, of course not,” Robbe whispers after regaining his breath, twisting around Sander’s arms to hug chest to chest instead, to nibble lovingly at his forehead and then lips. It’s been maybe an hour or two, and he already missed Sander’s mouth on his. “I want you here, for as long as you wanna stay.”

“I’m staying forever, then,” Sander declares, making a show of how he snuggles deeper against the bed, pulling the sheets up above their heads. Hiding under there, Sander leans their foreheads together, and Robbe can only make up the shadows of his sharp features. “Weren’t you worried about Zoë?”

Robbe shrugs. He _is_ worried. Milan knows, but Robbe’s not sure he’s ready to tell everyone else. Rationally, he knows they probably won’t bat an eye, but it’s still upsetting to think about—all the possibilities, the parallel universes where they react badly, and Robbe is just not prepared to risk it, not yet.

He wants to, though. If that means he can date Sander outside from bars, late at night on a Friday, without a pang of worry stinging at his chest or the impending knowledge that he’s treating Sander like a secret, something to be ashamed of, when it’s _not_. And Sander needs to know that. “I wanna sleep with you tonight, I’ll deal with it tomorrow. I promise.”

Sander smiles sweetly. Robbe can’t see it, but he feels it blossoming as their lips hover and brush close to each. Maybe his clear eyes are also twinkling in that pretty way they do when he’s happy. “And what about now, in this minute?”

“Now, I want this.” Robbe whispers, and he erases the already hair-length distance between their lips to kiss Sander properly, wholly and deep.

Kissing Sander still is a novelty—it deeply flutters his stomach and makes his head burst full of all the warm feelings. Every single one feels like the first, underwater, perhaps even more mindboggling and electrifying and worth cherishing. Robbe’d done his fair share of kissing before, but all of them turned derisory as soon as he got a taste of how kissing can be, how good Sander makes them and him feel.

Robbe opens his eyes then. He looks at Sander's close eyelids, how his jaw works as they kiss, the tip of his tongue dancing with his own, and Robbe is mesmerized. Like this, seeing Sander so lost into it, carefree and unabashed, enjoying it so much, grinning as he kisses harder, hugs tighter, Robbe feels on top of the world, invincible, and he wonders if Sander’s also looked at him while kissing, without Robbe noticing.

Sander rolls them over, with Robbe on top and pushes the sheets out of the way. He lays breathless and beautiful beneath him; Robbe wants to infuse in his mind how red his lips look, that hitch Sander’s voice makes when he sits heavier on his lap and roves his hands up and down his chest.

“What about tomorrow afternoon, then?” He asks, propping himself up to steal a peck, and he rearranges Robbe to straddle him just so. “Looking for a repeat performance?”

Robbe could tease Sander about how desperate and needy he sounds, how drunk and rough and boldly he’s looking at his mouth, how he’s exploring his back all over, like he can’t decide where to touch, but he doesn’t. Robbe has it just as bad; he’s trembling with it.

“If it’s after nine, then sure.” Robbe ducks downwards Sander’s neck, mouthing the column of it, and the blonde’s hands reach at his hips tightly as he breathes out shaky. “I promised Jens we’ll have lunch with his sister and go skating tomorrow.”

“Oh, I see how it is,” Sander flounces away suddenly, letting his head fall backwards and far from Robbe’s lips. He’s smiling that lopsided grin of his when he says: “_Jens_ is more important than your _boyfriend_. You hurt me so much, Robbe.”

Robbe laughs, shaking his head as he reaches out to grab Sander by the neck and push their lips flush together again, mumbling an _idiot _into it. They make-out for a moment, messy and hard in a way that almost makes Robbe forget what he was saying prior. “And then, I’m going to see my mom at the clinic.”

Sander leans back at that, and frowns in a pang of worry. “She’s sick? Is she okay?”

“Not exactly. I—” Robbe gets choked-up, and he looks away from Sander’s searching stare. His mother is a touchy subject, something he gets easily defensive about and he doesn’t want to get upset now when their whole night has been perfect and magical.

However, Sander has shared so much about him—his traditions, his passions, his art, how his mind works. Robbe feels as if it’s unfair to hide something so important from Sander, who listens carefully and would never judge, who’d try to understand and won’t push or look at him with pity, unlike everyone else.

“She’s at a mental institution,” Robbe brings himself to whisper eventually, with his attention fixed at the wall behind Sander’s head and he reaches to play with his pendant a little to try and control his hammering heart.

Sander freezes completely under him, his hands gripping almost painfully at his sides, and his stomach sinks.

Robbe doesn’t want to believe the worst, he refuses to even let his mind go there, so he’s quick to add instead, hoping wholeheartedly it’s the reason as to why Sander reacted so violently at his words: “She’s getting better, don’t worry. I visit her whenever I can.”

Sander is still tense, Robbe can tell, but he nods slowly, going back to petting his sides and lower back. The blonde stays silent for a minute or so, looking absentminded and somewhat conflicted, and Robbe is there, waiting with his heart up his throat.

“And, is that hard?” Sander murmurs at last, still not looking back at Robbe, focused on roaming his hands all over his skin as he lays his forehead on Robbe’s chest. “Dealing with it, I mean?”

Robbe hooks his chin over the crown of blonde hair, sighing relieved, breathing a little easier now.

“Sometimes,” he answers, dragging his fingers down Sander’s nape and spine, distracted. “But that’s just one bad part of it, between all the good,” he adds with a smile against the boy’s head, hugging him closer, needing to feel him there when his emotions are running too high and his eyes start to sting. “I love her, you know? She’s the best, just how she is.”

There’s a moment where the world seemed to reach a halt, and Robbe starts growing restless, but then, Sander lets out a deep sigh; it vibrates through him, as if a weight was lifted off of him, and Robbe feels it resonate along his spine.

Sander moves to capture his lips in a wet and rough kiss, pushing his tongue inside his mouth and letting his hands travel all the way down his lower back, over his ass, and Robbe whines loudly into it; parts startled and turned-on by Sander’s quick change of heart and sudden enthusiasm to kiss him silly.

Eventually, they pull away to breathe, but Sander is fast to latch onto his neck now, slowly and tenderly kissing new bruises in as they come down the initial plunge of adrenaline. “What was that for?” Robbe pants heavily, tilting his head back, giving Sander more room.

“Nothing. I just wanted to, I—” Sander looks at him with his doe-like green eyes, shining so prettily and smiling so brightly and looking so beautiful with his kissed-red lips and pale flush that something flutters inside Robbe’s chest and it fills him with warmth. “I’m just—I’m so happy.”

“I’m happy, too.” Robbe says and means it.

Sander really is hard to predict. When he leans down to kiss him and whispers “You are so pretty” into it while the rush of love soars through him, the older boy could answer with either _not as beautiful as you_, or _I try just for you, baby; _or something else sappy he comes up with in the spot_—_this minute, it’s the former, and Sander says so with a lopsided smile and a hue of pink warming his features, grabbing both of cheeks and getting their lips closer again.

A chaste kiss turns into five messy ones soon enough. It’s distracting, laying still barely dressed like this: Sander got his jeans back on when it started to get colder, and he helped Robbe with his shirt, but it’s not enough. It’s so, so tempting, too easy to get lost into the sensations, especially after getting a good taste of how it feels, which just seems to fuel the lust that should be resting and sated for the night.

Robbe knows they can’t try again right this moment, and being half naked is not helping their case, so he gathers all his willpower to detach himself from Sander’s grabby hands, ignoring the blonde’s little whine in disapproval and breathy “_Come back_,” to pick up the rest of their clothes from the floor.

His movements are sluggish, as the lack of rest starts weighting him down. “Are you tired?” Sander asks as he tries to push his shirt back on without sitting straight on the bed.

“A little,” Robbe nods, yawning. “We need to really sleep this time,” He adds as he struggles to get his baggy pants back on.

It doesn’t hurt, per se, it’s just uncomfortable. He feels it, though: the lingering stretch, the soreness that most likely will be there tomorrow morning, how limp his back and legs are. When he’s done, Robbe lets himself fall backwards, bouncing on the bed, and he hisses quietly at the collision. He should be more careful perhaps, try to not make it worst.

He tries to cuddle back closer to Sander, but the other boy freezes, sitting back up to look at him directly. “Shit, it was good, right? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Sander rambles, grabbing both of Robbe’s cheeks as he slowly ranks over his face and down the length of his body with concern. “I don’t want to hurt you, Robbe, ever.”

And there it’s again—Sander’s fear of hurting Robbe. “You’d never hurt me, Sander,” He reassures, rolling to sit on top again.

Robbe reaches Sander’s hands and pulls him to sit with him, hugging him close by the shoulders, running a hand through his hair and letting him feel how fast his heart is beating, because he needs Sander to understand how amazing, how mind-blowing it all was.

Sander has to know there’s nothing to worry about, nothing to doubt when it comes to them this time. Robbe’s in all the way, and he is willing to remind Sander of that as many times as he might need. This minute, he does so by using a silly inside joke of theirs, something only Sander will understand, even if it’s hard to keep a straight face while saying: “Five stars on booking dot com, _baby_.”

“Fuck…_fuck_, you’re unbelievable,” Sander groans and laughs all the same, laying both hands over his eyes as his cheeks burn bright pink and he twitches with newfound arousal. Robbe can only stare at him, marveled and maybe so in love, relishing on the effect something as simple as calling Sander a silly endearment can have. “How are you real?”

“Learned from the best teacher.” Robbe teases back, bopping Sander’s nose with one finger as he leans away and far from Sander’s chasing lips to sit directly over the blonde’s undone jeans, shivering when he feels it hardening under him again.

“Come back here.” Sander grabs him by the neck and pulls him back down onto his mouth, laying flat on his chest, and Robbe goes gladly, laughing freely into their sloppy kiss, because there’s nowhere else in this universe, or any other, he’d rather be.

* * *

The next morning, Robbe wakes up to a blob of fluffy blonde hair tickling at his jaw, an arm thrown over his waist, teasing the sensitive skin right above his jeans, beneath his shirt, and a pair of wet lips sucking lovingly at his throat.

Robbe giggles a little as he regains consciousness, hugging Sander closer by the shoulders, inclining his head to one side on the pillow and giving the other boy more room on his neck. “Hi.”

“Hey you,” Sander’s voice is raspy, still sleep slow and rough, but he sounds sickly sweet and bright as always. Sander licks a wet path from his Adam’s apple up to his mouth and pecks his lips twice before resting back on his chest, playing with the pendant of his chain. “Slept well?”

Robbe hums appreciatively, still sleepy and warm all over to answer with more than a nod, kissing Sander’s hair as they cuddle. He can hear Senne’s coffee pot and Zoë’s blow-dryer outside, maybe also Milan’s voice, distantly—had this been last week, Robbe would’ve freaked out; having a boy over, sleeping together like this, half naked behind closed doors; he can’t even remember if they locked it last night amidst their frenzy to get out of their jackets and shirts.

Now, Robbe can’t bring himself to care, he will deal with what it means later. Instead, he cherishes the feeling of Sander’s body touching his, laying chest to chest there under the sheets, with the subdued light shining through the curtains. They kiss lazily and wetly, open mouthed and with no finesse, no hurry.

Sander’s lips travel slowly onto his neck, getting his cheek all humid and sticky on his way. Sander mouths and nips at the skin and he moans pleased as Robbe plays with his hair mindlessly, encouragingly, letting out a heavy sigh himself at the touch. He scratches at Sander’s scalp and down his nape, over the lingering hickeys left from last night.

“Want some breakfast, baby?” Robbe doesn’t say it on purpose or sarcastically this time, the endearment rolls off his tongue easy, without a second thought, because it feels nice, right.

Because Sander_—_his _boyfriend_—likes it and Robbe wants to indulge him, even if he thinks it’s too cringy and sappy.

It’s only after Sander groans and kisses him hard and messy, dragging his shirt up his chest and grinding their hips together roughly, that he realizes what he said. Or the effect of it rather. “I—Fuck, _Robbe_—not that kinda hungry anymore_._”

And, just like that, Robbe gets an even more mind-blowing repeat performance.

* * *

**Sander**

21:21

I’m almost there

Okay

I’ll open the front gate

I asked my mom to stay the night again

You sure it’s fine?

Yeah

There’s a party tonight at an art kid’s

Nobody’s home

Awesome

Because I really wanna hear you this time

You made the cutest fucking sounds

I’m getting hard just by thinking of them

Shut up

Fuck

Sander

Yeah that’s kinda the point Robbe

Fuck Sander

Fuck him all you want

You’re lucky you’re fucking cute

I’m so lucky YOU find me cute

Don’t worry baby

You are fucking hot too

The prettiest little kitten ❤️

Stop Sander

I still can change my mind about that repeat performance

You weren’t saying that last night 😉

Fuck off

Love you 😘 ❤️

Love you too baby 😘

I’m here

Open the door you cute tease

As if you’re any better

Baby ❤️

❤️❤️❤️

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> this was born from me watching the first minute and nine seconds of vrijdag 22:53 for like forty minutes on christmas eve and crying about it on tumblr, because robbe and sander deserve all the nice things and a cute date that doesn't end badly.
> 
> let's do some sobbe-ing together.


End file.
